lazarus rising

So much happens in such a short period of time.

Sunny misses the voting entirely, regarding the reward. He wouldn't care to vote anyways. Not that he would ever admit his own cowardice and indecision.

When he comes to, sitting in the wheelchair with the knife he made firmly gripped in both hands, he shakes.

...Against all odds, gripping the handle, his favorite book turned weapon, he remains in a state of wide eyed alarm, gritting his teeth as he breaks beneath the pressure of two days of magic wearing him down. Two days, veering into three, and restless sleep that left him more tired than when he started.

So he ends up crumpled forward, one long fingered hand covering his face, quietly weeping only partway out of exhaustion. ...Only partly. The rest, he dares not consider.

Not for more than a few seconds, before he sobs, dropping the knife altogether as both hands go to smother himself desperately.

Awesome. So they got the right person. Spectacular.

Sunny can feel such a weight of relief in yanking the knife out of the podium that it could be criminal. He stares at Espada, giving her spiel, and... considering just how much magic Sunny had used in the past 24 hours (...48, really...), with how he was, it was a miracle he was still...

There’s something about all this that simply doesn’t rub Sunny right. Maybe it’s the fact that Bungle voted for Arthur. Maybe it’s the fact that yet another person is aiming for Arthur at all with their murder plans with Irezumi involved, and he’s finally had enough. He may not have a lot in him, but by god, he’s got enough in him to make this count.

Sunny pulls a book out of his pocket, and privately, behind his podium, there’s a pleasant flash of blue light that illuminates his face. It doesn’t last long, but by the time it’s done, Sunny’s up on his feet, and with a shunk, a knife about a hands breadth ;ong and a bit wide is stabbed into the top of the podium.

He stands, an elbow resting on the wood with one hand gripping the handle, as he stares at Espada with every ounce of hatred in his body.

“So, I’d like you t'consider what your fate is after all this shit is sorted.

"I’d like you all, actually, t'consider what the fuck it is you all think you’re doing, consistently, constantly, and seemingly unendingly threatening Arthur.

"Take a moment. Consider your futures in this rite. I may look like I’m falling apart, but I tell you fucking what, if you consider threatenin’ either Arthur or Irezumi, I’ve got your goddamn number. There’re better targets here to seek.

"And for you, Espada. If, by some goddamn miracle this isn’t you, an’ someone else takes the blame, either I’ll have your head or someone else will.

"My magic might be bullshit. It might be garbage in th’ face of every other obscene power y'all possess. But don’t think for a second I can’t kill you with my bare fucking hands. You touch Arthur, you’re not gonna have t'worry about some goddamn woman in a blindfold tellin’ you what your fate’s gonna be. It’s gonna be me. And I won’t show any mercy.”

He takes a second, stands back upright and leaves the knife in, maintaining that furious scowl.

“So. Moving on. Charlotte, is it? Beautiful name. Shame we haven’t had more'a a chance to chat before all this.”

…His lips curl into some faint, disingenuous smile.

Vote recorded.

Espada - 4

Vanitas - 1

“Oh, there is no fucking way I’m trusting her with all our information. I don’t give that shit out that freely!”

…Either he missed the grand reveal of his magic, or… Still, he seems to have mildly recovered from his reaction to throw his arms into the air, looking more frazzled than anything.

“No, she did it. And she’s gonna go down for it. No way around it! Like Arthur said! So… let’s just… get over it ‘n vote proper.”

Vote recorded.

...Wait. Wait. Okay, Sunny's eyes snap back open, looking to Leaf. Then Bungle. Then, naturally, Mother. And part of it's probably him having just woken up, but...

"WAIT. Wait. Okay. No. I'm not married. There's not gonna be a fight, what the fuck."

Sunny takes a deep breath, pressing his palms together before exhaling.

“Sunny Ó  Caoimh…” Rago mutters… eventually they answer with Sunny’s magic. “Sunny Ó  Caoimh’s magic is the manipulation of runes, writing them in the air with a circle through which he can form a deep connection with nature to whisper wishes to it. As you can see with how he is, it takes quite a bit of stamina from him.

Sunny stirs mildly when his hand is taken, and he lifts his head, staring at it and then Leaf. And without hesitation, he says like a man still stuck in a dream but with zero inflection,

"I do."

Sunny sighs and offers a distinctly sullen, "My apologies," to Kislap, his chin in his hand.

Sunny sinks back in the chair as the others speak, with varying responses of an eternal patience from the newly 'revealed' Arthur, to disdain from Kislap. His fatigue is unending, resting his cheek in his hand as he looks... so... tired.

He sighs.

"Liesel is right. And Arthur's right. And I think th'sheer magnitude of stupidity that comes with the field of believing that we're not valuing our lives by mentioning shit like this is buck fucking wild. I don't know what shit y'all could find on me with my name, but I'd be just as surprised by the results."

That gives him a reason to wear a nasty little smile. (Come on. Don't get testy.)

"Regardless. Someone used a big, sudden burst of magic t'take Silence's magic away. I can't... fathom what Silence was made of. I can't. That's absolutely out of my range of knowledge. Still, you know, I think it's pathetic to have killed for somethin' like that. Just- utterly pathetic."

He shuts his eyes, scowling through the tiredness.

"Concealing or no, it's pathetic. Kill someone with your bare hands, or don't do it at all. That's what grandma always used t'say."

You didn't even know your grandma.

"...I'd argue someone with a predisposition to, uh. To magic involving blood could have easily requested Grigori's assistance, training... t'make this happen themself. T'get the ability to conceal their identity 'n make sure no one finds out what they can do. Pathetic."

He chuffs, sinking down further into his seat as he gets dangerously close to just... falling asleep.

"Given I don't know more than a handful'a you beyond th'superficial, it'd be stupid to consider the possibilities for who could stand to gain something from this motive. So..."

He lifts one hand and rolls his wrist, like he's gesturing for everyone to keep going.

"I've got nothin'. Nothin' to do, or say, or think about. So. Pretend I'm not here."

Upon being assisted into the trial, Lazarus finds himself seated at his podium, looking more fatigued than ever. He keeps his arms crossed tight over his chest, scowling at nothing in particular.

“Cad atá cearr le daoine…? O Bhuel. Cé a thugann aire, cibé ar bith.”

Lazarus says that while pinching the bridge of his nose, before he heaves a dramatic sigh, slumping down in his seat.

“You know what? I’m feelin’ spiteful today. Just a little bit vindictive. Y'all killed for names and magic? Here we fucking go, then. You can have mine free of charge.”

He jolts upright, both hands going to grip the armrests, looking somewhere between enraged and amused. 

“My name is Dr. Sunny Ó Caoimh. I’m 27 years old, but I feel much fucking older. My magic is rune magic. Ask me about it later, and I might give you a fuckin’ demonstration. My alibi is as fuckin’ follows: I took a bath at 10. I fell asleep in said bath. I didn’t wake up ‘til we all got told something happened. Fuck whoever did this for killing over something so goddamn trivial.”

Lazarus visibly recoils at being spoken to so directly. Like, if he could turn into a turtle and hide his head, he would.

So he just stares back up at Vanitas, bewildered while managing out,

"I- of course. Right. No, that- bad joke. Not my best, huh. Not... at... all."

That trails off with a grimace.

"...I'll keep my lips sealed. No more... bad jokes."

Muffled slightly as he raises his head, Lazarus glowers in the direction of the Watcher.

"Given how today's gone, I can bet I'll get the short end of th'stick. Might as well, at this rate, just get it over with 'n get my punishment."

Looking up finally, gazing at the Watcher as she utterly and completely dupes him and the lot of everyone there (save, perhaps, for Ibis…)

…Lazarus looks tired. How tired, you ask? How tired does Lazarus looks? So tired that he could probably, perhaps, fall asleep right then and there and be dead to the world.

“…Of course.”

He slowly slumps back down over the podium, face-down and functionally dead to the world. He woke up? For this? Came here, got his ass beat, almost died, got riled up and… well, for what? For self-sustained stupidity? For something easily avoidable?

…